Deft
by Cheloya
Summary: Christmas one-shot, and a sort of sequel to Flowers and the Detective III. It's difficult to get out of beanbags, isn't it? Not for Count D, apparently. DxLeon if you squint a little.


Title: Deft

Author: Rose Flame

Rating: PG

Genre: General

Part: 1/1

Disclaimer: I don't own Christmas, beanbags or Pet Shop of Horrors.

Warnings: Nothing, really. Barely perceptible shounen-ai.

Summary: Christmas one-shot, and a sort of sequel to _Flowers and the Detective III_. It's difficult to get out of beanbags, isn't it? Not for Count D, apparently.

* * *

"What on Earth have you done to this place?"

The transformation was astonishing. D was not one to celebrate Western holidays, but something certainly had to be done to commemorate this. Detective Orcot had cleaned his apartment - _really_ cleaned it. His less-than-educational posters had been torn down, replaced by tinsel and strings of fairy lights. Shiny paper garlands hung from the ceiling, at the center of which was placed a small sprig of a dark green, spiky plant that D identified as mistletoe. In the corner of the room, surrounded by a small fortress wall of brightly gift-wrapped presents, was the smallest, least impressive, withered pine tree that D had ever seen - but the tinsel and lights and baubles that clung to its slender fronds more than made up for its lack of foliage.

"I thought you'd be the last person to complain," Leon said, smirking a little at seeing the Count so surprised. He sauntered further inside the apartment and, reaching the coffee table, plopped gracelessly into a beanbag. The Count continued looking quite shocked and confused.

"What happened to your furniture!"

Leon's grin widened a little, though it didn't seem to reach his eyes. "Well, what with presents and medical fees, my bank account took a bit of a dive. I got rid of the sofa and bought bean bags instead. Neat, huh?"

D's face showed a concern that belied Leon's flippant words. "Detective..." He sighed and took a seat in the second beanbag, submitting to the other's strange good cheer. Leon nodded, satisfied, and scrambled up out of the beanbag towards the kitchenette.

"Great, now you're settled, I'll make tea."

D watched the blond officer's back as he fussed around the kettle, a thoughtful frown on his face. Perhaps the detective's good mood was merely a product of the season, but he doubted it. Leon hated Christmas, or so he said. No, this cheerful temper was something more - a cover, perhaps, for a mood worse than usual. As Leon rejoined him at the coffee table, bearing two coffee mugs, a vanilla slice and a pot of sugar - the latter two mostly for D's benefit - he leaned forward, one finger pressed lightly to his top lip.

"Where is Chris?"

"Cathy invited him to her family's Christmas Eve party - they're going away for a couple weeks, so it's his last chance to play with her for a while. Besides, we aren't really doing anything 'til tomorrow."

"I see..."

D was subdued as he retrieved his portion of vanilla slice - about three quarters of the cut. Leon rambled aimlessly, about how glad he was to have a few days off for Christmas for once, about cases he was missing, about cases he was glad to miss. He slurped his coffee between stories, as though expecting D to join the conversation, but the Asian man was deep in thought. Finally, Leon fell silent, and just as he was working up the irritation to snap at D, he spoke.

"You know, Detective..." D's tone was unusually serious. Leon's interest was piqued immediately. "...you are more than welcome to... borrow..."

And all of a sudden Leon's bad mood bloomed in full. His face changed from sober to seething so fast it was almost frightening. "Don't even fuckin' think about it," he snarled, blue eyes narrowed into slits. D's mismatched eyes were sad as he gazed at the detective, but he held his tongue - for once, he thought it truly unwise to provoke Leon's anger. After a moment, the heated gaze left D's face to glare sullenly at the coffee table. "Like I want your help, anyway. I'm trying to bring you in, remember?"

D supposed that was an apology, of sorts, for his violent rejection of the suggestion of D's aid. It didn't quite mollify him, though. "Perhaps I should leave." He stood up from his seat in the beanbag and collected his mug and plate from the coffee table. Leon gaped at him, anger leaving his face. D almost smiled. Humans were so easy to manipulate, sometimes.

"Holy shit! Do that again!"

And sometimes they just confused him with their banter. D blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

Leon pointed past D's knees to the red beanbag he'd just left. "You stood up! And you didn't use your arms and it was still all graceful and shit! Do it again!" He sounded amazed and maybe even a little horrified. It didn't help the Count's confusion. Hesitantly, he sat down in the beanbag. Then, he leaned forward slightly and with an elegant sort of twist, he stood up. Leon stared at him as though he had suddenly sprouted tentacles. D began to be nervous.

"How the hell did you just do that!"

D sat down again, a very bewildered expression on his pale face. "I'm afraid I don't understand, detective..."

Leon blinked at him in disbelief for a few seconds and then sighed. "Okay, look: --" He gestured to himself briefly, then struggled out of the beanbag. It involved stretching over the edge of the bag and supporting his weight with the floor before lifting himself free of the beanbag with a twist and a heave that was anything but graceful. Once upright, he crossed his arms and watched D suspiciously. "See? The way you do it - hell, _no one_ does that! It's a _beanbag!_"

A small smile had begun to curve D's lips, a twinkle of amusement visible in the still depths of his violet eye. "It is not difficult, detective. It is merely a matter of weight." Leon's eyes narrowed.

"You callin' me fat, Count?"

D raised his hands to stave off the accusation, looking slightly embarrassed. "Now, now, Detective..." He stood, once again demonstrating uncanny grace and precision in his movements. "Sit down again. I shall show you how it is done."

Thus did the time pass, fruitlessly: with D kneeling by the detective's side, passing long nails lightly along areas where muscle should be tense, where weight should fall, where tension should most certainly not be. It was an entirely different sort of movement that he tried to teach to Leon, and one that the young American did not take to well or easily. Time and again, D coaxed Leon to his feet. Time and again, the Chinese man frowned and passed comment on some aspect of Leon that was stubbornly refusing the new lessons it was being taught. Leon, for his part, felt that there was entirely too much unnecessary touching - D's hand on the small of his back, tugging patiently at his arm as he stood excruciatingly slowly. The play of D's fingertips along his ribcage down to his hip as he explained where the male human's center of gravity normally resided. The gentle pressure of his palm against Leon's calf as he tried to show the American where to shift his center to, and how. Finally, Leon pushed himself up out of the beanbag the good, old-fashioned, clumsy American way and glared at the Count, still kneeling with a patient, attentive smile.

"Fuck - look, never mind. We all know you're a fucking superhuman anyway."

"Very well, Detective." D's expression barely changed as he stood, seeming to underline the grace and precision he had been trying to teach Leon for the better part of an hour. Leon's eyelid twitched. "It is getting rather late. I should be returning to the pet shop."

The annoyance faded. The detective looked as though he had just remembered something it would be embarrassing to forget. "Oh - well, uh, hang on a minute." He walked past D to the ridiculously over-decorated Christmas tree and carefully slid a large, flattish box out from underneath several presents marked, messily, "FOR CHRIS". Rearranging Chris' gifts under the frail, glittering limbs of the tree, Leon stood up again and presented the brightly wrapped box to Count D. "There ya go. Merry Christmas."

D's impassive, cool mask once again dissolved into surprise, coral lips slightly agape. "...Detective, I -- I don't even celebrate--" Leon pressed the box into his arms and he found himself clutching it to his chest, needily.

"You don't have to. Just open it."

"But I can't possibly accept..." He trailed off as he found his fingers unsticking tape and carefully folding back wrapping paper. He knelt on the floor as the paper came away completely, leaving him with the sort of box you only received as wrapping in the most expensive of stores. Catching his lip between his teeth and pretending it hadn't happened, D lifted the lid away and gave voice to a soft gasp. The lid slipped from suddenly numb fingers and he pressed his fingers into the silk, lifting it free of the box in disbelief.

"Oh, Detective..."

It was a kimono, teal with dark violet trim, a wandering design of wisterias in mauve spreading across the left shoulder and down to waist level, trailing across the long, heavy sleeves. The obi was gold run through with teal and indigo, a thinner, tasseled violet cord decorated with gold beads a stylish addition to the more traditional garb.

He was, it seemed, quite overcome. His voice wouldn't work properly. "...oh, it's _beautiful_..."

It was the best he could manage, but Leon seemed inordinately pleased. "Heh. Glad you like it." Blue eyes warmer than D had thought they could be watched him from above.

"Oh, I _do_..." He continued, breathlessly, delighted-- and then he came to his senses. "Oh, but Detective, you really shouldn't have! It must have been terribly expensive. I don't - I can't - I haven't--" He stopped and stared at Leon a little desperately, a little wildly. He was used to such largesse, but not from the Detective - _never_ from the Detective. His gaze darted briefly to the Christmas tree and all the presents underneath it and Leon, who had been looking a little puzzled at the Count's reaction, suddenly understood the problem.

"Ugh. Listen, idiot, it's the season for _giving_. I'm _giving_ it to you. It ain't a trade, y'know." He blew his fringe out of his face, exasperated. "It's what I do at Christmas. If I know what'll make someone really happy, I get it for them. So don't get so--" He couldn't think of a word for it, and became suddenly incensed again. "Argh! Just take the damn dress and we'll all be happy!"

D's eyes left Leon's to study the kimono again, stroking the fabric lovingly. The faintest of true smiles lit his face, wonder and delight suffusing his features as he allowed himself to truly enjoy the gift. He resettled it in the box and replaced the lid, standing with it pressed against his chest. His eyes met Leon's again, and the detective was briefly captivated by the affection and happiness contained in either orb - sparkling amber and heated violet.

D took a step closer, stretched up upon his tiptoes, and placed a soft kiss upon the cheek of Leon Orcot.

Who promptly leapt away, sputtering.

"What the hell! What do you think you're--"

D released the box with one hand and smiled with infuriating amusement. "Mistletoe," he pointed out cheerfully. Indeed, the mistletoe was hanging above them. Leon glared at the sprig suspiciously and decided that plants and the Count conspired to form bad luck for him. "My thanks to you, Detective. You may be certain of a personal invitation to celebrate Chinese New Year with me."

Leon blinked a couple of times at the lack of teasing in his voice and then said, "That's 'round February, right?"

A sunny smile that masked all emotion but the one it represented. "I really should be going, Detective."

Still stunned, Leon started zombie-like for the door to let the Count out. "Yeah. Uh. G'night, D. Merry Christmas."

The Count offered one last smile through his lashes as he passed the detective. "It has been. Sweet dreams, my dear Detective."

He retreated down the hall.

Leon closed the door more gently than he'd ever closed a door in his life and turned around to face his apartment. He was pretty sure 'sweet' wasn't going to cover his dreams tonight.

"Shit."

He stood there a few seconds more, almost wondering if it was worth getting into a temper.

Then he scowled and kicked at the floor vengefully.

"God, I hate Christmas."

* * *

C+C are appreciated. I don't think I've quite got D's character yet. 


End file.
